Run Faye Run
by Jaygrl22
Summary: Penelope Faye isn't strong; nor does she always think things through. She doesn't always listen or follow the rules, but is that really such a crime? Well, breaking the law is a crime, yes, but she just wants to help others! Is going about that goal in a roundabout way really so bad? Mmm… Yeah, actually, it kinda is. [Genos/OC]
1. Chapter 1

**_DANG_, this is a _fine_ ass first chapter! Most of my first chapters are like… _maybe_ a ****thousand words? If you're lucky? But this baby, holy shit. It's like almost 3,000! Hope y'all enjoy it! (This fandom needs more freaking fan fiction!) Fair warning though, I update at a snail's pace. I might crank out a few chapters at a semi-normal speed in the beginning, but you've been warned.**

**Oh, and please check out the disclaimer at the end of this chapter if you plan on sticking with this story. It's _tremendously_ important. Anywho, let's go!**

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><p>Grandfather never talks about my parents. I've never seen a picture of them, and can't recall them on my own. Whenever I try to, my mind goes blank and my head feels like it's being split open. My childhood home, school, town… anything of that nature is a mystery. Maybe that's why I can't walk through the remains of this ruined city without crying.<p>

The pungent stench of death lies heavy in my nostrils. Tiny bodies, skin seared down to blackened bones, litter the rubble around me. Inside the former building, a single wall of lockers barely stands. I pass a large clock, burnt and cracked, and step away from the silent, ghostly schoolyard.

I check my Fore Comp for signs of life but, without a signal, it can't sweep any farther than a few yards. Wiping the tears from my eyes, their color similar to the pale, broken bricks at my feet, I curse the useless thing. It can't even reach Grandfather, who can just barely be seen crouched near the edge of the town. Gathering what little information he can, no doubt. It won't be long until he calls me back to his side and we return home to analyze his findings. This, too, is useless, as the cyborg rarely leaves even the tiniest trace. Still, Grandfather cannot stop himself from searching the wreckage for clues, just as I cannot stop myself from searching for survivors.

My Fore Comp gives a small _Beep! Beep!_, finally picking up on Grandfather's life force. With a sigh, I start pushing hair over my eyes and dawdle along the broken path. Soon, the color of cherrywood blinds me, but I know it's useless. He won't be fooled by such a childish move to hide my tears. The rubble shifts around his feet as he stands.

"Are you ready, Penelope?"

"Yes, Grandfather." _Beep! Beep!_ We pause. I stare down at my Fore Comp, then quickly bring it to my face. Could it be…?

"Penelope. Don't get you hopes up." But I'm already climbing up a mound of debris and jumping onto a pile of wood and brick. Grandfather calls my name, but I refuse to acknowledge him. My only focus is the tiny, blinking dot, and the shrinking space between us. It isn't until the directional arrow, indicating myself, is practically on top of the dot that I stop.

The world around me, devoid of life and color, is bathed in amber as I put on my goggles. Yellow numbers, words, and symbols appear on the screen, giving me an in-depth awareness of my surroundings. A particular symbol flashes red in the upper right-hand corner, reminding me of the goggles' lack of remaining power.

I scan the area for chemical components, but it's no use. The remnants of vaporized humans and structures mix in with the air and dust, making it impossible to single out one possible person. I switch to the infrared setting, the world becoming a beautiful, but terrifying shade of dark purple. The tops of the debris mostly shine dark pink, somewhat warm, but only from sun. Turning slowly, many of the remaining bodies are only slightly brighter, too cold to still be alive.

_There! _To my right is a yellow-orange blob; still warm. Possibly alive.

"Grandpa! Come quick!" Running to the person's side, I pull off my goggles and freeze. The person–_is it still a person?_–is just as charred and broken as all the other corpses, trapped beneath pieces of wood and metal. A ragged breath forces its way out of the body and I dive for the wreckage pinning it down.

"Can you hear me?" The skin around one ear appears to have been burnt off. "Hey! Answer me!" My foot slips but I catch myself and continue unearthing the person—man. No… _Boy_? I know I shouldn't move him, but he's already so destroyed, I don't think it's possible for more damage to be done. So I hoist him from the rubble. He screams like I've ripped him in half.

"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msosorryI'msosorry!" I immediately set him down, almost throwing him to the ground. He moans. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" I yank off my jacket and, with the help of a small pocket knife, start tearing it into long shreds of cloth. There is so much blood and so much of his insides exposed to the elements, I doubt he will survive much longer.

"Please, don't die. Please, hold on, okay?" I sniff, wiping my eyes, smearing blood on my face, and wrap what remains of his body. "Please… _Please_…"

The boy cries out in agony then continues wheezing and whimpering as Grandfather scurries towards us, his old bones creak with every step. Halfway down a shambled heap, he stares at me and the boy in shock.

"Grandpa! We gotta help him, hurry!"

He snaps out of his trance but slows considerably upon reaching us. "_Penelope_," he begins.

"Don't you dare say it, old man! Just help me!"

"Penelope look at him. Look at your hands. His survival is… it's unlikely."

I scowl at Grandfather. "How can you say that?! This poor boy is fighting for his life, and you wont even give him a chance! If we can just get him back to the facility then—"

"Penelope, you can't just go around fixing people. Even if it will save their life, you must think! How would you feel, waking up to find yourself in the body of a cyborg?"

"I'd be grateful! Who cares as long as you're still alive!?"

"Y-yes," a weak voice croaks. My head snaps to the boy. One of his eye sockets is void, but the remaining eye is focused on me.

"You're awake! Wait, yes? Yes, what? You'll let us fix you?"

"Y-yes." His eye burns into mine. He's determined to survive.

"_See_, Grandfather? He _wants_ us to help him!"

Grandfather evens his gaze. Curiously, he looks down at the dying boy. "You do understand what you're asking for? To become a cyborg, to become like the one who did this to you and your town… is that truly what you want?"

"Y-yes…" He grits his teeth. "I-I'll kill him… for what… he's done…"

Grandfather frowns. He does not care for this answer, but he understands. He understands better than anyone, and his empathetic nature is impossible to hide.

"P-please… I beg… of you…"

"Grandfather…" I grab his coat, staining it with the boy's blood. "_Please_. We cannot just leave him to die… We have to at least try!"

Grandfather sighs then hurriedly turns away. "I'll bring the chopper as close as I can. We'll leave as soon as you finish tending his wounds."

Tending to his wounds? That was almost a joke. His entire body was one burnt, severed, bleeding wound. But I understood. I put my goggles back on, letting the information on the screen guide me towards the wounds most in need of the remaining cloth. My invention shut down after a few moments, completely out of power, turning the world a dimmer shade of amber. Now, they're just an old, useless pair of tinted goggles.

I push them back and tie the last knot. Grandfather's aircraft hovers towards us, then lands just beyond the waste piles surrounding us. Turning away from the dirt and wind, my hands carefully curl around the boy's body.

"Are you ready?"

He stiffens in response, and I take that as a yes. Learning from my last mistake, I lift him gently. He's surprisingly light; likely due to the fact that there is not much of him left. He hisses in pain with every step, but at least he isn't crying bloody murder. I walk over the lowest mound, keeping my movements as slow and predictable as possible.

From his place in the pilot seat, Grandfather opens the canopy door and I carefully climb inside. There isn't much room to spread him on the cabin floor, so for now I sit in my chair, him still in my arms, and fasten my seatbelt. I give Grandfather a thumbs up, unable to reach my headset. He closes the door, shaking his head softly, then powers up the main rotor.

I hold the boy to me as we rise in altitude, trying to keep him still amongst the rattles and bumps. The turbulence becomes smaller and less frequent, until I can finally stand. The boy occupies my seat, while I grab my headset and recite any necessary information to Grandfather.

In the tiny area behind our seats, known as the cabin, I begin moving around the boxes of data, gadgets, and whatnot to make space for the boy. I take a blanket from a first aid kit and spread it out on the floor. Cautiously, I pick the boy up again and set him upon the makeshift bed so he can lay in peace during the journey. Well, relative peace. His sharp, viscous breaths fill the tiny space, making me wonder if perhaps his throat or lungs are filling with blood.

"My name's Penn," I blurt, startling everyone in the helicopter—myself included. "And that's my grandfather, Dr. Stench. What's you name?"

The boy gives me a sort of disapproving look–_at least I think he does_–as if this were not the time to be asking such a question. Maybe so, but I still frown.

"It might not seem like it," I say quickly, "but I'm trying to determine your condition. Just go along with me, okay?"

The boy doesn't answer right away. Holding onto his displeasure for another few moments. Finally, he forces out a word: "Genos."

"Genos?" I shout over the engines. "Is that your name?"

He nods before coughing. I lift him slightly, attempting to help open his airways. Once he finishes, I settle his head on my lap and caress it, trying to ease his discomfort. It's likely his lungs are crushed, at least partially, or maybe filled with ash and gunk.

"How old are you, Genos?"

"F… Fifteen." This surprises me. His voice sounds older than that.

I remember the tiny bodies in the schoolyard. At that size, they couldn't have been a day over ten. I wonder what games they liked to play; if they told their families they loved them that morning; what they were doing just before the attack. Did they have time to turn and run, or was it over before they even noticed? Was it a quick death, or did they lay there in agony? Returning my attention to Genos, I find him expectantly staring up at me.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"How old… are _you_?"

I lift my brows. He's conscious and clearheaded enough to keep a simple conversation going. That's good. "Seventeen. That makes me your senior, so you better treat me as such, got it?"

A small bit of breath bursts out from his throat. At first I think he's coughing again, but realize he's scoffing at me. Humor, or resentment… either way, another good sign. I smile and pet him again, frowning slightly at the flakes of skin and hair sticking to the dried blood on my hands.

The rest of the ride is long and silent, not including Genos' breathing or the roar of the engines. It feels at least twice as long as the time it took to get there. Though that could just be because we have a dying passenger onboard.

"Beginning our descent. Penelope, come here and fasten your seatbelt."

I groan. Landing is usually much less turbulent than taking off, except for the bump when the skids finally touch down—the helicopter's _'feet'_ so to speak. Technically, we would probably be fine if we stayed where we are.

"_Penelope_," Grandfather warns.

"Fine, fine, fine."

As predicted, the landing was quick and calm, aside from the landing bump. The moment Grandfather turns the engines off, he inputs a password on keypad just to the left of the console. The helipad makes a hissing sound, then lurches. Slowly, it lowers into the earth, four thick steel walls rising around us, then picks up speed. Awkwardly maneuvering around Genos, I manage to sign my Fore Comp back into the main database and begin preparing components within the main lab for the operation. The helipad-elevator comes to a halt and the small square of sky in the distance becomes closed off by a procession of doors and seals.

Genos watches the display intently as we three exit the copter. The last seal locks only a few feet from the top of the aircraft.

"Hope you're not scared of tight spaces," I joke. He looks at me, but doesn't otherwise react. Grandfather places his palm on a screen and stares into a tiny orb. They scan him and present another keypad. He enters the password for this entryway and an outline of a door 'magically' appears and opens for us.

Without wasting any time, we rush to the main lab. Genos does not appreciate my jogging in the slightest. I can only keep apologizing as he moans. He's determined to survive, but his grasp on consciousness has been slipping. Time is of the essence.

The doors to the lab open swiftly. Per my instructions, the room has been prepared with all the gadgets and gizmos we'll be needing. A Do-Bop-Bot, only about as tall as my thigh, wheels in with one last tray of syringes and tools. It halts when it sees me and gives a 'tip-of-the-hat' gesture with its claw-like hand before resuming its orders and parking itself near the back wall.

While this is going on, I set Genos down on the operating table and spreading him out evenly. Already bloody, I don't bother with my lab coat and simply wash my hands before putting on my gloves. The thick kind that keeps me from getting electrocuted or slicing my fingers off by accident. My goggles are still dead, so they get tossed to the Do-Bop-Bot, which instinctively catches them and takes them away.

Grandfather brings forward a machine with a metallic hose which turns into a plastic-like mouth piece with a long tube sprouting from it. He brings it towards Genos' head before passing it to me. In the simplest of terms, it's an oxygen mask that forces the user to breathe. Whether they want to or not.

"Open wide," I murmur.

Genos attempts to comply, but barely manages to part his lips. I maneuver the tube into his mouth and let it sit loosely for now. Eventually, it will have to be inserted into his windpipe. I shake my hands, trying to stop the tremors. Fuck. _Fuck_, this is happening. I've built plenty of things from scraps and scratch in my life, but never from another living being. Grandfather has. Maybe that's why he's so calm.

I've studied it, and he's taught me about it. I know how to do this. Theoretically, anyway. Nerves are sort of just like wires. Technically. Kind of. _Fuck._ We're really turning someone into a… A _kid_ into a… I lean over the table, making sure the boy can see me.

"Hey, so, look. Genos. You understand what we're going to be doing, right? How you–your body–is going to be totally different? Like sensory-wise and… _stuff_…? I know it's this or death, but… are you absolutely _sure_ you want this?"

He doesn't speak or nod, I don't think he can anymore, but his eye becomes more focused. The determination from before has faded–_he's_ faded–but it's still there.

"Blink once for no, twice for yes."

He blinks twice, slowly.

"Okay. Good, just checking. No take backs, you know?" I force out a laugh. It sounds like a dying chimp. Quickly shaking my head, I continue, "Anyway, you wanna kill that Borg that destroyed your town, right?"

Again, he blinks twice. Faster this time.

"Okay, cool, awesome. Right. Okay, so, we're gonna replace all the parts of you that are… _totaled_. _Um_, which is most of you, and, _uh_, basically gonna turn you into a fighter model. Given that I'm the one who suggested this whole… help you… _thing_… I feel it's kinda my responsibility, or whatever, to give you a heads up. So, _uhhhh_… You're never really going to experience the world in the same way you have been?" It comes out as question, but it wasn't supposed to.

He doesn't react.

"Yeah, _uh_, well, your sense of sight for instance is gonna be like, off the charts in comparison, which 'll be cool, but… if you wanna be a fighter model, you're not really gonna experience touch. I mean, you _will_, just… not the way humans do. 'Cause, like, touch is actually just a muted form of pain, or pain is just an overload of the touch sensoria, and you don't really wanna feel pain if you're gonna be in fights with lasers and stuff, so, uh… well, anyways, you'll get it once you… wake up, 'nd stuff."

I pick up the largest syringe from the tray on my right, the one that will shut everything down.

"So… um… You still sure? Last chance."

He blinks. Twice.

I place it against his neck, take a deep breath and glance over at Grandfather. He pulls a large, bulky piece of machinery down from the ceiling. This is what will keep his brain alive while we operate. As long as his brain survives, he'll survive. Or should, anyway. More or less.

While Grandfather prepares to attach this to the base of Genos' head, I kiss his cheek. "Good luck." He's going to need it. Grandfather and I share a nod.

"On three," he says. "_One_…"

I double-check the needle. Yes, it's in place.

"_Two_…"

Swallowing hard, I ready my fingers. The machine in Grandfather's hands begins to whirl.

"_Three_!"

Genos' body, practically lifeless before, springs to life. A howling scream rips from his chest and ricochets off the walls.

Oh yeah. I forgot to tell him how much this would hurt.

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><p><strong>DISCLAIMER: I came up with the idea for this story in late December, 2014. Given that OnePunch-Man is still ongoing at this time, and likes throwing in the occasional plot twist, I hope you can forgive me if my interpretations of people, places, andor events end up being wrong. (For example, I would've totally portrayed King as the man we thought he was when first introduced, and… well… that would've been pretty damn wrong.)**

**Whatever information is available while I'm writing is what I'll go by. And if certain info is not available or unclear, my lovely brain will fill in the gaps. If I end up wrong about a thing, and it's not something too critical to my story, I'll either edit accordingly or just leave a message at the end of the chapter being like:**_ yo guys, guess who was wrong? Let's just ignore that, yeah?_

**If I'm way, _waaaaay _wrong about something that happens to be a major component for my story… well... we'll burn that bridge when we get there. Cool? Cool.**


	2. Chapter 2

**See? I told you the next one would be up (relatively) soon(-ish). Enjoy!**

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><p>"Let's see… <em>Hospital<em>… I guess all of these? Name: _Genos._ Date of birth…" I bite my lip, squinting at the screen in front of me. My fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment, then continue. "Suppose just the birth year will have to do…"

A Do-Bop-Bot rolls up beside me and in it's melodic, computerized voice announces: "_Creator found. Bop, bop! Creator. Allow two-way communication_?"

"Sure, why not?"

"_Why not: Accepting a two-way communication call may result in a lack of focus, an increase in unproductivity—"_

"I meant yes. Patch me through. And set a reminder to enhance D-B-B's vocabulary again."

"_Reminder set. Bop, bop! Patching Doctor through to Creator._" The bright yellow orb at the center of the Bot flashes, then turns blue. "_… Penelope_?"

"I'm here, Grandfather," I say to the Bot. "Do you need me?"

"_No, no_. _I'm fine for now._ _But you ran out so quickly, I didn't hear what you were saying. What is it you're doing?_"

I sigh, returning my attention to the computer before me. "I _said_, I'm going to see if I can recreate Genos' face."

"_Ah. I see._" He pauses and the sound of a fine-point laser buzzes through the Bot's speaker. It stops. "_How are you planning to do that exactly?_"

"I'm checking the records of children born fifteen years ago named 'Genos' in and around his city. Then I'll cross reference the results with… Oh. Wait. I've got a match."

"_Only one_?"

"Well, Genos isn't exactly a common name. Let me see."

I run the name on the birth certificate through a search engine and a surprising amount of results appear. Clicking the first link, a newspaper article with a picture overtakes the screen. There are multiple people in the shot. It looks like an award ceremony of some sort. At the bottom of the picture in italics is a small directory, listing off the names of those seen above. Genos' name is at the very edge of the second row.

The boy standing there is similar to the boy we rescued. However, _this_ Genos has a full head of spikey blonde hair, all his limbs in place, and skin without a single gash or burn. Paired with a mature smile, both of his bright brown eyes shine towards the audience. Perhaps his parents are sitting there, glowing with pride at their son's accomplishment.

"Huh. He's actually pretty good looking," I mumble. My eyes skim over the article beneath the photograph. "This picture was taken last May."

"_But are you sure it's him_?"

"You say that like I'm supposed to know what he looked like…" I study the boy in the photograph closely. "I mean… Their features match up well. Same jaw, same nose… hair color, eye color… Yeah, I'm willing to bet this is him."

"_Alright then. I'll leave you to it. Come back whenever you've finished._"

"Will do."

The Do-Bop-Bot's monitor flashes again before returning yellow. "_Bop, bop! Two-way call complete. Standing by._"

Ignoring the Bot, I pull the picture onto my desktop and open several programs. One helps me to erase everyone from the picture but Genos. I zoom in on his head, select it, and send it to another program. This one has a simple gray ball of mass in the center of a black and green grid. His face pops up in a separate box in the upper left-hand corner.

"Do-Bop-Bot." A small melody plays, indicating that it is ready to receive orders. "Scan the face of the boy in the main lab and upload it to this program."

After a few seconds it goes, "_Bop, bop_!" and the blob in the center of the screen begins to shift, molding into the given dimensions.

I scowl at the long nose and big ears. "No, not _Grandfather_! Do-Bop-Bot, scan the face of the _boy_ in the main lab!"

It doesn't move. "_No boy found._"

My back arches in surprise. "_What?_"

"_No boy found,_" it repeats.

"But…" Wait, does he already register to them as a… "Scan the _cyborg's_ face."

"_Bop, bop_!"

The gray blob returns to it's original, spherical shape. Then shifts again and constructs into the face I want.

"Thank you," I sigh.

"_You are welcome. Creator._"

With his picture as my guide, I reshape the digital clay. Filling in the gaps of missing skin and bone, blotching out the scars, and erasing burns. The program helps to restructure the area around his missing eye, along with the sockets and lids themselves.

In another program, I replace the missing chunks of hair and 'rejuvenate' the dead, burnt hair that managed to remain on his skull. This takes the most time, as there isn't enough left on Genos' head to give the program actual, proper dimensions to work with. Eventually, after much trial and error, it looks like a full, healthy head of hair. There's a tool, essentially a comb, that allows it to be styled. Hopefully, Genos normally wears his hair as he did when the picture was taken. He'll be able to style it however he likes, of course, but this is how it will 'naturally' fall.

I save the file, then transfer the hair to the previous program. Once in it's proper place, and at the proper scale, the person in the photograph and the 3D model before me look nearly identical. Turning the model in every direction, I adjust a few details, trying to compensate for the passage of time between now and when the picture was initially taken. The final program fills in the colors, which–aside from it _insisting _his eyebrows be hot pink–takes no time at all.

The face is perfect. _Literally_. There are no lines or blemishes of any sort. It's a little unnerving and I have to remind myself it'll look better in person. Rather, when it's _on_ a person. I combine everything and save the final image before sending it off to be crafted in another part of the facility.

"Do-Bop-Bot." Its melody chimes as I stand. "Have the finished product brought to the main lab when it's ready. Understand?"

"_I understand. Creator_."

Upon my return, I find Grandfather has wasted no time during my absence. He had begun wiring 'nerves' through the finished endoskeleton, but then, in his typical fashion, had moved on to something else. As he works, Grandfather likes to move from one thing to another, to another, and another. He sets down an unfinished hand, then picks up part of the unfinished core. If you watch him for too long, it can make you dizzy—or, if you're like me, drive you completely insane.

Pulling my fully charged goggles over my eyes, I join him at the table and pick up the discarded hand, a small screwdriver, and the fine-point laser. The pieces are too tiny to handle while wearing my gloves. Grandfather knows this but still sends me an unhappy look. Ignoring him, I focus on the data on my screen. My fingers wrap the tiny wires through the necessary components and zap them in place.

Before I know it, the hand and the blaster in its palm are complete. In the time it's taken, Grandfather has jumped from the core piece, to the connectors, to the knee joints, to the outer armor, to the mouth. I thought we had already finished with that, but Grandfather continues to tinker with it.

Picking up the nearly finished core, I grin. "Don't tell me the great Dr. Stench forget to install something?"

"As a matter of fact, I forgot the taste buds."

"_Taste buds_?" I repeat with a chuckle. "What would a fighter model need taste buds for? Is he going to lick his fallen enemies and taste their defeat?"

"There is more to this world than revenge, Penelope. Perhaps, after he has time to grieve, Genos will understand that and change his mind."

I frown. It had been a joke, but he was taking this quite seriously. "Grandfather…. His home was destroyed by that monster. No amount of mourning is going to change that."

"Not a monster. A cyborg."

"A _monstrous_ cyborg. One _you're_ chasing for the very same reason."

"Penelope," he sighs, setting his hands down. "I understand very well what Genos is going through. I only hope he won't use this second chance on something so…" His wrinkles deepen as he scowls, unable to find the word. "Imprudent," he says eventually.

"But Grandfather… We've been chasing this cyborg for as long as I can remember." My head starts to ache. "Does that mean _we're_ imprudent? Wasting our lives on trying to find, and _stop_, that monster from causing any more harm?" A dull pain shoots though my head, making my fingers twitch. Grandfather sees this from the corner of his eyes and frowns.

"You have suffered. In more ways than you know. But that pain has not swallowed you, nor turned your life to vengeance, like it has done to mine. Like it may do to Genos'. You are free from that burden in ways we are not. At times, I am almost envious of that."

Pouting, I say, "What does _that_ mean? I may be younger than you, but my life has been just as focused on finding this monster."

Grandfather does not respond and merely focuses on what's in front of him. I try to wrangle with the meaning of his words, but a persistent headache interrupts most of my thoughts. In the end, I too return to my work.

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><p>A large yawn overcomes me. I push back my goggles and rub my eyes before examining our work. The world is a little fuzzy and it's hard to concentrate but we're nearly there. Genos' head and three of his limbs are entirely finished, with the rest of him not too far behind. His face is still a little unnerving, being so flawless and motionless, but less so than when it was just a concept on a screen.<p>

Grandfather had fallen asleep while working on Genos' final leg. Him cuddling it like it were his favorite toy makes me wish for a camera. Instead of bothering to search for one, I tap the top of his head. He stirs a little and smacks his lips.

"Don't drool on the gears, Grandfather."

He cracks open an eye, sees what he's holding onto, and springs upright in his seat at a surprising speed. A few loud pops emit from his bones as he does so. He huffs, dropping something on the floor as he rubs his lower back.

"I'm getting too old for this," he grumbles.

"If it makes you feel any better, all-nighters have never been your forte."

"I can't help–," he groans as he stands from his seat and begins to stretch, "–that my body needs rest." Grandfather checks his watch and frowns. "You've been up this whole time?"

"It feels silly to stop when we're so close to being finished."

He rubs his eyes and returns to his seat. "Ah, to be young and reckless."

"I'm not being reckless," I say. Or at least attempt to as another obnoxious yawn escapes me.

"Perhaps we should stop for the night."

"No way! I'm totally awake! See?" I jump up and start doing jumping jacks. "Moti! Vated! Ener! Gized!" I attempt a few lunges, getting stuck near the floor. "Check out how–_ow, ow,_ wait, no, _ow_–awake I am?"

Grandfather chuckles, then puts his hands up to try and calm me. "Alright, alright. Settle down. We'll keep working. But," he brings a finger forward, "you will go straight to bed afterwards. Understand?"

"Sure, sure, sure!"

With newfound energy, I dive into Genos' chest cavity, tightening this and finishing the wiring on that. My mind moves faster than my hands could ever dream in my body's current state. Little mistakes start piling up and force my fingers to repeat every task at least twice. Grandfather, though sluggish from his nap, proceeds to finish the leg in a steady, flawless manner.

Together, we finish the rest of the torso, setting the larger tubes and hoses and locking them in place. We cover his stomach region with a protective material, similar to the kind on his arms and legs, though somewhat thinner to allow expansion. Grandfather checks the core one last time before we seal it away under heavy, shield-like plates, which are covered in even more protective material.

Yawning, I put my Fore Comp back on and link it to Genos via a wire within his forearm. I initiate a few basic tests while Grandfather reads the results on the large computer near the other side of the room. We monitor and alter different levels, and preset certain necessary functions, like 'average oxygen intake per minute' and 'standard vision settings'.

Per Grandfather's wishes, I try to keep most of Genos' default settings only moderately higher than those of a standard, organic human. But per Genos' wishes, I set certain things closer to that of a fighter model. Like his energy scanner, which I set in such a way that it will register any sudden changes within his surroundings automatically.

"Alright, everything looks good," Grandfather announces. "Let's see how this goes, shall we?"

"Let's do it!"

Slowly and carefully, we begin to remove all of the attached machinery that has been keeping Genos alive during the conversion. It's a delicate procedure. We have to be sure his new body can effectively keep up these functions without any outside support. If they can't, we have to reattach everything and go back in to fix the problem. Thankfully, Genos' body isn't giving us any trouble—Grandfather is an expert, after all. Eventually, there's only one piece left: the piece at the back of his head.

Until you get to this finicky little thing, the thing that keeps the brain alive and well, there's a pretty low chance of your patient dying during the operation. Removing it is the very last step of the transformation, nicknamed the MOB step—the make-or-break step. This is when you find out if the person is physically and mentally compatible with what you've done to them.

If things go wrong, the best case scenario is a quick death; the brain freaking out and short-circuiting the rest of the system. The worst case is when the brain can withstand the change but the mind cannot. That's how renegade cyborgs like that mad killer come about. Unlike that monster though, destructive renegades are in a constant state of destroying; they never cover their tracks or go into hiding for months or years at a time.

Renegades aren't always a danger to others. In fact, most of the time they're only a danger to themselves. Tearing apart their own flesh and metal, muscle and wiring. They cry unable to produce tears, and laugh hysterically while they rip out their own throats. I've seen the footage. It's heart-wrenching.

Taking in deep breaths, we share a look and then a nod. He moves around to the back of the table while I call in a swarm of Do-Bop-Bots. I stand behind them, close to the door and order them to create a blockade around the two of us, careful not to use the word _defense_. Not yet anyway.

"_One_…" Grandfather reaffirms his grip. "_Two_…" There is a click followed by a slight hissing sound as he unlocks the nozzle. "_Three_!"

Grandfather detaches the piece from Genos' head and quickly jumps away. Several Bots flock around him protectively as Genos shoots up. Big black and gold eyes spell out panic on that porcelain face. He takes in huge gulps of air and catches sight of his body. Looking down, he opens and closes his hands and studies them all the way up to his shoulders. He feels his chest and grabs at his hair before finally noticing me, barricaded behind a handful of bronze, oval-shaped robots.

They aren't very menacing. The tallest only reaches my waist and the shortest stops at about mid-thigh. The older models sway a little, trying to balance on their singular wheel, but the newer, three-wheeled ones are too 'hyper' to sit still anyway. Genos' sensors don't seem to recognize them as a threat, either, since I haven't yet ordered them into defense mode.

Awkwardly, I give him a small smile and a wave. He returns it, slowly, albeit looking quite confused. A fantastic sign.

"Did…" He stops. Surprised at the sound of his voice, perhaps? He tries again. "Did it… work?"

"You tell me."

Genos looks down at his body. He grips his hands into fists then flexes his fingers. "I think so," he replies sheepishly.

Grandfather and I regard each other with a mixture of pride and relief before dismissing the majority of the Bots. Genos' eyes follow them curiously and he jumps a little when Grandfather pats his shoulder. We both take a moment to revel in our good fortune, confusing the poor boy terribly.

"Why don't you try standing, Genos?" Grandfather suggests. "Walk around a bit if you think you can."

His brows furrow a bit but he goes along with what Grandfather says. I move to his side as he attempts to maneuver off the operating table.

"It feels a little weird."

"I'll bet," I say, taking hold of his arm before he can step down. Good thing too, because the moment his feet touch the floor he nearly tips over. "Your brain," I say with a groan, helping him into a standing position, "still thinks it's navigating your organic body. More weight in places it doesn't expect, less in places it does. That sort of thing."

"So you're telling me I have to relearn how to use my body?" He finds his center and I move back a step, my hands ready to grab him again if necessary.

"That wasn't what I was telling you, but, yeah, kinda. Oh, and if anything feels loose in your skull, don't worry about it. It's just your detached brain rattling around."

"What!?"

I laugh as his hands fly to his head. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Seriously though, if anything feels super weird tell us right away, got it?"

He glares, _clearly _not appreciating my _golden_ sense of humor. "_Everything_ feels weird."

"Better than feeling dead," I counter, still grinning. His face falls, as if a bomb as dropped upon him. My hands slam over my mouth, realizing what I've just said. Despite their artificial nature, his eyes expose a flurry of horror and pain. The past few hours–_days?_ –are playing over in his mind. The deaths of those he loves–_loved?_–, his own bout with mortality. Shit. _Shit_! "I'msorryI'msosorry! I didn't mean to! I was just trying to… I'm so sorry!"

For a moment, he returns to reality. He glances at my shirt, his face twisting in an almost queasy fashion –something you don't often see on a cyborg–, before looking elsewhere. Curious, I look down and find myself still covered in his blood. The nearly black color practically engulfs me and has stiffened my clothes considerably. I hunch over and try to hide what I can, which isn't much.

My existence is just one fucked up reminder of the Hell he's endured. Nobody should have to go through something so traumatic. Nobody should be forced to relive it, either. I apologize again and quickly excuse myself.

* * *

><p><strong>xoxo<strong>


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